


Cut Me Deep, the Secrets and Lies

by BlessedAreTheFandoms



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bondage, Drug-Induced Sex, Dukat did everything wrong, Established Relationship, Forced Orgasm, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedAreTheFandoms/pseuds/BlessedAreTheFandoms
Summary: Inspired by RomancebyFaye's "Madness," this looks at the scene from Julian's perspective (read their work first, I'd recommend).Julian wakes to Garak chained to a bed after they've been captured.  It gets much worse from there.
Relationships: Dukat/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Dukat, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Cut Me Deep, the Secrets and Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [RomancebyFaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomancebyFaye/pseuds/RomancebyFaye). Log in to view. 



> I've read RomancebyFaye's "Madness" several times over and found more and more in it every time. Read that work first. I wondered what it would look like through Julian's eyes. Hint: it's not cute, so do please mind the tags and warnings. This doesn't fit anywhere within the established universe of DS9, I don't think--it's a one-shot to itself.
> 
> Title from the lyrics to "Madness" by Ruelle.

Julian woke, checking with his internal clock how long he had been asleep this time. It had been three days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since the shuttle had been captured, and he had yet to know why or what was desired of him. His shouted questions about what had happened to Garak had gone similarly unanswered and the silence was as unnerving as any torture.

This waking was different, though. The room felt—bigger, perhaps, than the veritable closet in which he’d been kept. And he was not alone. He could hear slow and even breathing across the room that he recognized almost instantly; how many times had he laid awake just to listen to that rhythm, assuring him Garak was still there?

Wherever “there” was, now. Julian tamped down his relief that Garak was alive and listened intently, stretching out his considerable senses to determine whether there was anyone else in the room. His limbs were free—in fact, he was dumped in a rather untidy heap on a metal floor. The _how_ would have to wait. 

Julian uncurled himself slowly, slowly, waiting for whatever would come springing out of the shadows. Nothing sprang; he stood and scanned the room slowly, flexing his tightened muscles while realizing that there was nothing in the room except him—and a giant, ridiculous bed. 

To which Garak was chained. Naked.

Forgetting his continued surveillance, Julian rushed to the bed and leaned over Garak. He rattled the chains, trying to find their locking mechanisms, and followed them back to the posts. The smooth metal had no joinings; the chains flowed out of the bars like water. The first snakes of fear began to writhe in Julian’s belly.

Beneath him, Julian felt Garak stir. He settled next to him, hand hovering just beside Garak’s face as Garak blinked himself to consciousness. “Thank God you’re awake,” Julian said, hating the tremble in his own voice. “I tried to get you loose, but I couldn’t.” His doctor’s training kicked in as he checked Garak over perfunctorily to make sure there weren’t any internal injuries draining the alien’s life away. 

“There’s nothing here except us,” Julian murmured when he caught Garak scrutinizing the room. Suddenly he was babbling about the room, the bedposts, all the pathetically limited information he knew to see if Garak could make sense of it, Garak who could pull things out of the smallest pieces of observation.

“Julian. Stop.” The force in Garak’s voice wrenched Julian out of the panic seizing him and grounded him in those clear blue eyes. Julian took a deep breath, two, and settled his hands on Garak’s strung-up arms. 

“Garak, what are we going to do?”

“What indeed?” came a lazy drawl across the room, and Julian felt his insides harden to ice. He knew that voice, knew its casual cruelty and mocking laughter. He jumped off the bed to face this opponent, unsurprised to see a wide smile across Dukat’s face as he sauntered into the room.

“Are you comfortable?” Dukat asked Garak, ignoring Julian completely. Frozen, Julian was suddenly acutely aware of Garak’s nakedness, of his own torn uniform, of the sterility of this room, of Dukat’s focus on Garak. With a snarl, Julian leapt at Dukat, forgetting all his caution and forethought in the face of his hatred and fear. He tore at neck ridges and threw admirable punches and, at last, was simply overwhelmed. Dukat was better rested, better armored, and stronger, taking even the most powerful of Julian’s blows with comparative ease. Julian knew that he would leave bruises, but no more than that, and shortly Dukat maneuvered him to the floor, wrapping his grey hands around Julian’s throat and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, until the room faded and Julian blacked out.

He woke, his throat throbbing, to the sound of a hypospray pressed into his neck. The drug flooded through his system and Julian, exhausted and lightheaded, was swept along with it. His mind watched his body stand as Dukat set him down, reaching out a hand every now and then when the body that was Julian threatened to fall. All his calculations, his internal clocks, his constant files, his computer of a brain fell silent. 

Julian raised a hand and stared at it, lost in the stillness of what was usually his cacophonous mind. He was aware there were two men in the room— _Garak_ , he reminded himself, _and Dukat_. Somehow the information didn’t seem to matter all that much; the drug whittled away his fear and he wondered why he’d never understood what a miracle simply standing was before.

Dukat’s hands lingered longer and longer as they propped him up and Julian began to focus on them. The silence shifted gears and now there was not silence but _need_ , raw and sharp, pouring through his veins, shouting inside. Dukat started to take off his uniform and Julian agreed, reaching to help him because it was _too hot_ to be clothed right now. Dukat’s hands stilled his and the undressing went on, slow, sensual. Something in the back of Julian’s mind stirred, something that saw Garak on the bed and registered the horror in his eyes. The primal need that coursed under Julian’s skin poured over the doubt and Julian, _Julian_ struggled to keep some sense of alertness. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and the vacant lulling of the drug pulled at him to relax, to melt into the rough scales rubbing against his now-naked back, the grey hands rubbing over his nipples.

When Dukat reached his hips, Julian felt himself buck against the touch. Dukat was saying something, what was he saying? Julian fought the drug, pushing like a swimmer against a river to keep his focus, to restart the computer that was his mind but _oh like that_ as Dukat pulled his cock out of his pants and rubbed _please yes_ and Julian didn’t know if he was saying it out loud or inside the haze of his mind as Dukat tugged and Julian’s hands went along for the ride, the onslaught of sensation from the scales against his shoulders and the hand pulling at his shaft and the ridge digging into his shoulder building under his skin _too much too much not enough_ and his head fell back, his torso boneless. Dukat bit his way down Julian’s still-sore throat and the drug and the touch and the fear and the horror and the desire and the pain and the pleasure broke Julian open and he cried out as he spattered Dukat’s and his own hands, slumping against the Cardassian behind him.

It was the erection that pulled his brain back online—not fully, but enough. Julian was still hard, and the shock of it plus the unceremonious dumping of him between Garak’s legs and the hatred mixed with fear and anguish on his lover’s face gave him something to hold onto in the waves of pleasure and haze that the drug had generated. He thanked his father for the first time in his life for altering him, for rewriting him to be able to push against whatever this was—but he knew that it had to continue. 

The onslaught of desire still shoved at him and he gave it free rein, for the moment, letting the memories of nights of passion with Garak, _Elim_ , wash through this sterile room with its chains and cold floors. He covered Garak as though it were just them, willing Garak to hear his apologies, letting his speech slur as he slid through the motions he had memorized a thousand times over of bringing Garak’s body to readiness. If Dukat wanted a show, a show he would get, even as Julian blocked his ears against Garak’s cries for him to stop.

But it was not to be just a show. As Julian rocked into Garak, he felt Dukat climb into the bed with them. For a fraction of a second, Julian froze as Dukat slid his hand over Julian’s side. He covered it with confusion, pulling the haze over himself like a cloak. “Who?” he asked, swallowing the fear that was coming to the fore as he mastered the drug more and more. Dukat smiled and kissed him and Julian stiffened involuntarily—it was supposed to be a show, he did not want this, _he did not want this_ but he knew what was expected. He forced himself to be pliant, smooth, and he continued to rock into Garak as Dukat plunged himself into Julian’s mouth and Julian whispered a silent repentance to the Cardassian writhing beneath him. When he repeated the name given him, _Skrain_ , Garak shouted in Kardasi and Julian closed his eyes against the ferocity and hate in it. Dukat stroked him to completion again and Julian cried out _Skrain_ , hoping that would be enough to satisfy, hoping this would end.

It did not.

Julian felt himself being turned around, bent down so that his face was level with Garak’s _esch’vra_ and Dukat’s fingers were opening him, stretching him and with his face in Garak he did not have to hide the sorrow and shame that shot across his expression. His body betrayed him, still hard after two orgasms, the drug pounding through him like Dukat’s fingers and he felt sick as his tongue lapped at Garak, the familiar taste soured by this show that he knew would not end until he was impaled on Dukat for Garak to see, and to hate. His body was maneuvered like a doll, turned again to sit on Garak’s chest. He schooled his face back into emptiness, into complacency, and he did not realize until he felt Garak’s mouth close around his cock what Dukat was planning. The thrust of Dukat into him broke his façade and he sobbed, sobbed at the shame and the horror and the violation of it as Dukat’s hands held him still and he did not fight them. For a split second he opened his eyes and looked at Garak, connecting with his lover’s gaze and pouring his apology and his sorrow and his fear into the connection, but the haze was on Garak now, his mouth full of Julian in a twisted charade of normalcy. Garak blinked and Julian closed his eyes again, the tears running freely, and Dukat turned his head and kissed him and Dukat’s tongue and his cock were both inside Julian who was inside Garak and the pace of it ached and it was wrong, all wrong, all wrong. Julian’s body took over again, lost in the sensation and need, and his mind let it, lost in the pain and revulsion, unwilling to take in any more of this as he wept and shouted and screamed himself into the orgasm he did not want.

Dukat pulled him off Garak, after, and Julian tried to breathe, to hold down the nausea roiling through him, to keep the pretense of the drug even as Dukat held him like a lover as though he had any right.

“You know, I was going to kill you both, but I changed my mind,” Dukat said conversationally, and Julian felt himself begin to shake with the pronouncement. It was not enough to have a show; it was not enough to debase Julian; it was going to continue, and continue, and he would be trapped between his lover and his enemy, hurting the one and satisfying the other for eternity. This was Hell.

He did not accept it.

Julian sat up and slid off the bed, swaying slightly as the stretch from Dukat ached between his legs.

“And where do you think you are going, you lovely creature?”

 _Creature_. That was it; to Dukat, Julian was nothing but a pet, a toy with which to play until he was bored. In the low light, the forgotten hypospray glinted on the metal floor, and Julian felt the ice return, flushing the haze of the drug from his veins in the arctic coldness of hatred and fury.

“Skrain,” he said, kissing Dukat and laughing with a sing-song voice that made him sick, “gotta piss. Be right back.” He giggled for good measure, hating himself, hating Dukat, hating the sight of Garak still chained to the bed, his mouth dripping at the edges with Julian’s cum, his eyes shining with defeat.

Dukat let him go with a patronizing chuckle and Julian walked away, making sure to sway before falling right on the hypospray. He heard the crunch of the glass and felt the shards go into his knee. The sound of pain was not fake; the tears sliding down his face were only partly from his bloodied knee. He turned, showing the wound to Dukat, and sure enough Dukat came to him, his wounded pet, making sure all would be all right—

His aim for the nerves along Dukat’s bent spine was true, the glass shard slicing through like a scalpel. Dukat fell and Julian edged out of the way, ignoring the blood dripping out of the corpse as he brushed some of the bigger glass pieces out of his knee. He searched the clothing Dukat had left at the foot of the bed and found the key, ignoring Garak’s look of shock as he unlocked the chains binding him. The pair looked at each other, rage and apology and dismay running through their eyes before Julian handed Garak Dukat’s clothing and grabbed his own. Now was not the time to talk; now was the time to escape. Talk would have to come later, when they had the words.


End file.
